Desperation
by ashford2ashford
Summary: A twist on SH4 The Room. After hearing voices in his sleep, Henry Townshend awakes to find himself locked in his room. But is that all there is to this grim experience? WARNING: YAOI UPDATED CHAPTER THREE!
1. From The Beginning

**Silent Hill 4 – The Room**

**Desperation – By Ashford2ashford**

**Rating: Mature – for Yaoi (Henry/Walter) and later on, graphic violence**

**AN: First Silent Hill fic and it's a SH4 tribute!!! Hope you like it…**

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**Chapter One – From the Beginning**

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_Henry Townshend had never been particularly good looking._

_His eyes were sullen and sunk into his face. Chin covered with bits of stubble that he'd missed during shaving. Face caught half way between being chubby or thin – not quite right. His hair was always messed, usually in his eyes were the hairdresser had missed a few strands. It was clear to most people just by looking at him that he wasn't well groomed. Clean, yes. Well groomed?_

_His clothes were the same. The same baggy shirt with the same shirt underneath. The same trousers ending with the same shoes. He looked untidy, tired, and always off in his own world._

_Henry Townshend was never really talkative._

_In fact, his neighbours often commented to the superintendent how the young male seemed to flinch when spoken to, or cast his gaze downwards when people walked past him in the hallways of South Ashfield Apartments. Too many times had they seen him sat in the laundry room gazing into the whirring machine at his clothes before noticing anyone was there. _

"_What's wrong with the machine in your room?" Frank Sunderland was not intimidating in the least, but the young male flinched anyway. He had motioned to the washing machine that day; Henry's attention guided to his clothes whirling in front of him._

"_My…my machine broke." _

_Henry Townshend had a hushed voice that sounded as though he permanently had a sore throat. His American dialect sounded marred by something foreign too; as if he had come from another country, despite what his I.D. said. _

_Henry Townshend had once had a run in with Richard Braintree in the halls of the upper floor and had been forced against the wall harshly with the older male screaming in his face about "watching where he was goddamn going" and "respecting his fuckin' elders". _

_Henry Townshend had also occasionally glanced upwards and met the eyes of his neighbour Eileen Galvin. His gaze soon returned to his shoes, but the neighbours of the apartments had exchanged knowing glances and had smirked at the slightest hint of a smile upon the quiet man's lips._

_They knew that Eileen had sparked his interest. They could see it in his eyes, even if he didn't yet know it himself._

_But then…_

_Henry Townshend disappeared._

_Henry Townshend locked himself in his apartment and refused to come out. _

_People started talking. They called him "weird" and "reclusive". Eileen Galvin became worried for his safety. Frank Sunderland became nervous. Apparently, Henry Townshend was not the first man to lock himself in_ **that**_ apartment. _

_People passed by the door of room 302 on a daily basis, wondering what happened to the young male inside its walls. Was he starving to death? Was he alive? Was he hurt?_

_What they didn't know what that Henry Townshend clawed at the door for a period of five days. _

_What they couldn't hear was the husky pleading voice from the other side of the locked door; rattling chains in a vain attempt to get out of the prison he had been placed in._

_How were they to know that Henry Townshend was _**not**_ okay, _**not**_ dead, and unusually so _**not**_ starving to death?_

_It all started from that day…  
_  
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"Eileen."

No answer.

"Eileen!"

Desperate this time.

"EILEEN!"

I sank down into despair and sighed deeply, turning with my back to the wall. My knees hugged to my chest, a bottle of wine in my hand, I stared long and hard at the floor until my eyes started to hurt.

Behind me there was no reply as usual.

It had been a small discovery. A peep hole that led into room 303, carved out into the wall behind a chest of drawers in my room. I could see my next door neighbour clearly through it, going about her business as usual. Sometimes I shouted to her…

That brings me to where you joined me.

It's been five days since I first became locked inside my apartment. Not locked inside as in someone outside was playing a practical joke – if that were the case, the superintendent would be in here right now, and the joker would be out on his ass in the middle of the street.

No. Instead, I woke up five days ago to find that someone had bolted my room with chains and god knows what from the _inside_!

I've tried pulling at them, I really have, even tried kicking the door down. That didn't work. It's like my room is stuck in a different dimension or something. My windows are sealed shut, the glass won't break, and my door refuses to let me out. I can scream and cry all I want, and no one will hear me.

On the plus side, I don't get hungry or thirsty any more. I'm actually just drinking this bottle of wine out of boredom. It's my tenth bottle in five days. I know you can't see any bottles lying around here, but believe me it is. It keeps refilling itself. After I'd drunk it for the first time, I threw it in the bin as one normally would, but when I opened my fridge the next morning, there it was!

If this apartment is haunted, then there's a ghost out there who loves to see me when I'm drunk. Call me sick or twisted, but there's nothing to do in this apartment but play with cameras and play with myself. My television is broken, my radio crackles static, and I'm not really in the mood for reading. So when I've had a few, or in this case ten, I simply lie back on my couch and start to…well…I need not be graphic.

Then the headache starts, and it's not because of the alcohol. It's like there is something screaming at me to not commit such acts on the couch, so I roll off onto the floor and the headache stops. This room likes to remind me of where my place is in this.

By that point, though, I'm usually too into my act that I don't question it.

Again, it's sick. I'm aware of that. No need to remind me constantly. Trust me, I feel guilty and ill every time I do it.

That's not the half of it.

Whenever I do it, it's like there's something _watching_ me do it. My _room_ watches me. It has a life of its own.

Then there's that voice…

Sorry, I'm getting carried away in my own thoughts. I'm forgetting to tell you everything.

Whenever I close my eyes, there's this voice inside my head that's whispering to me about what's going to happen to me, to this room, and how it's coming for me. The number '21' keeps getting repeated to me, and the voice starts to chant "_21121…21121…21121_…"

The nightmares haunt me…gristly nightmares…

Like I said…it speaks to me whenever my eyes close.

So when I'm lay there on the floor, trying to think of other things, the voice talks to me, and I feel as though I'm surrounded by this sudden coldness. The room seems to fall away and I feel as though I'm being displayed before someone – that cold and emptiness moving around my flesh. I can't stop myself. My hand moves faster across my flesh as my free hand claws at thin air.

"_That's it, Henry…let go…lose control…"_

"Oh….oh….yes…" My voice can barely squeak a reply as my hand moves automatically into a rhythm that makes me throw back my head and call out loud.

"_My 21…my Receiver of Wisdom. Go on…lose control…become mine…"_

In that moment I do. I can't stop myself. My hand is clawing at nothing, and my other hand seems to have gone into overdrive. It's not even part of me anymore, I can't feel it!

"N…NO!" My voice is hoarse, and I can feel tears running down my flushed cheeks – red from either drink or heat, I can't tell.

Then my eyes force themselves open and I'm staring at a blank ceiling, and my hands drop limply to my sides as I lie there transfixed by the overhead fan rotating innocently.

After that…well…you know…I clean myself up…and then drink some more…

Which leads me to where I am now, huddled in the corner of my room, a bottle in hand, my shirt messed up (more so than usual) and my cheeks bright pink. I've tried calling for Eileen so many times now over the past five days that I'm starting to think that saving my voice is becoming an option.

Then I hear the crash…like the tearing down of a wall…from _inside_ this apartment!

I move over to the door and listen…I can hear whispering in there…like several voices talking at once. My hand is grasping the door nervously…before I force it open.

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_Ashford2ashford: And there we leave it for another day._


	2. A New Perspective

**Silent Hill 4 – The Room**

**Desperation – By Ashford2ashford**

**Rating: Mature – for Yaoi (Henry/Walter) and later on, graphic violence**

**AN: First Silent Hill fic and it's a SH4 tribute!!! Hope you like it…**

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**Chapter Two – A Change of Perspective**

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**Henry's thoughts - **

I open the door and my eyes crawl over to the hole that has formed in my bathroom wall, and my breath is caught in my throat - gaping…wide…endless…

No. No time for losing it now. I'm drunk…swerving slightly, but an escape is an escape in my eyes.

As I stagger forwards, trying to get through the hole, something nudges my shoulder painfully, and I briefly stop to register what had happened. A thick length of pipe stuck in the hole…wedged seemingly. Whatever…I'm taking it with me…there could be anything waiting for me when I get out of this hole. I suppose that's just me trying to find reasoning with my madness. Why would I need a weapon?

Oh scratch that question. Why the hell would my door be sealed? Why the hell would I be locked in for five days? Why aren't I hungry? Thirsty? Or even dead by now?

Of course I'm taking a weapon!

The dirt around me is hard, and it's scratching my elbows through my shirt, but I can feel myself trying to press onwards, trying to ignore the pain. What's a little dirt compared to an eternity trapped in your room?

Of course…now it's hit me that this tunnel could collapse at any minute!

Why did I come through? I can't go back! I can't turn around!! And this hole doesn't seem to be ending!!! Am I stupid? What the hell?? Does a normal person go through tunnels that suddenly appear in the bathroom wall and _not_ think about the dangers behind it? I'm that desperate that I didn't even think about it, and now it's too late! I'm in here!! Keep crawling, Henry…keep crawling…

"ACHOO!"

Ouch. That hurt. I sneezed and banged my head on the tunnel wall above me. Oh wait…is that light? IT IS! Yes!! Then…why do I feel so tired all of a sudden? It is loss of air? From going through the tunnel?

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What the hell just happened?

There's machinery below me…I can feel it…humming low and…well…continual. I feel dizzy, and I don't think it's the alcohol. Did I pass out? I can now focus on the scenery around me and it looks like a…subway? Well…the subway outside of my apartment actually. Is it? It is! Here I am, crouched on the step of the escalator going down into the subway. One of the entrances into there!

I'm looking up and all I'm seeing is darkness. Is the tunnel I came through up there? It seems like there's nothing up there really. Usually, I can see the top of the escalator and the people on it…but now…it's just a void. Damn. Is this a one way ticket down into the subway?

On the plus side…I'm out of my room and………..into the fire apparently. I can't help but think that, sorry, but there's someone at the bottom of the escalator…and he's pointing a gun…straight…at…me…

"Mr Townshend."

And he knows my name.

"Um…hello."

I'll try and be polite at least. That should soften the tension in the air…and hopefully get that gun turned away from me. He's smiling. That's usually a good sign. Or a bad sign, but that gun still hasn't lowered so I'm thinking it may be of the latter. I'm raising my hands in defence.

"I'm…unarmed!"

My voice sounds weird. Even to me. He's laughing now. Is that good or bad? Maybe bad. That gun still hasn't lowered. I can feel myself getting drawn into focus on it, and my blood's pounding in my ears. That low thud alongside the machinery…that's my heart isn't it? If he doesn't lower that gun soon…I'm due for a heart attack.

Oh wait.

Speaking of machinery…the escalator seems to be coming to the end of the line so I'm forcing myself to stand…and now the gun is pressed again my chest. I can see even the stubble on this guy's face I'm that close. No. Don't take your eyes off the gun, Henry. That's right. Focus on that.

"You're not unarmed."

"Huh? What?"

He's laughing again. Oh. Right. I remember. I said I was didn't I? So why is he saying…oh yeah. The pipe. I didn't realise. It seems I've forgotten that up until now I've spent five days locked in my room. I guess it must be the rush of freedom followed by the rush of fear. Or something like that.

"The pipe." There's no amusement in his voice even though he's smiling, "Drop it."

What would you do?

Drop your only weapon or clutch onto it like a life line?

I don't fancy getting shot in any case.

I'm a coward at heart really.

I drop the pipe.

"Sorry."

What am I sorry for? It just slipped out I guess.

"Good boy."

I'm staring into his eyes…and…he looks dead. Those eyes are like ice. Cold…barren…unfeeling. There's a dangerous flicker in them. My heart's pounding real loud now. I'm drowning underneath that ice in his eyes. I can't think or breathe. Above the ice, there's this voice that runs like silk into the depths of the ice. With the sound of my heart beating my ears and the blood rushing to my head, his voice sounds distant. It's soft, almost gentle…playful…dangerous…soft…

Familiar…

I'm moaning. I don't know why. Is that me moaning? It must be. He's standing there shock still, clearly amused, the smile growing large in face, so it's not him. It _is_ me.

"Henry…Townshend."

Speaking to this guy is strange. It's like he's there, but he isn't if you know what I mean? Every word seems…precise…like he's testing out how it sounds and feels on his tongue. His eyes still keep their frozen pool glaze, yet his voice seems to be the only thing alive about him.

Is he even alive?

"Um…yes…how do you-?"

"I know many things. Your name happens to be one of them."

"Ah. Yes. How did I -?"

"Through the hole in your bathroom did you not?"

"Well yes…but where-?"

"The subway. Surely you've been here before? It's right outside your apartment block."

"Um…yeah. But how do you-?"

"I know where you live."

Okay. That was actually the weirdest thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life. He knew what I was about to say before I'd even said it myself. If that wasn't enough to make me more scared than the gun, then I am a man without fear of anything…except guns. Is it even worth trying to converse with him? Not that I'm usually sociable anyway.

"Why look so worried? I can't kill you yet. This gun is my reassurance, Mr Townshend." He's got that look in his eyes suddenly, and I'm drowning again underneath the ice. No…more than that…I can actually _feel_ the cold on my skin…I feel like I've died. I realise I've fallen over, and his fingers are netted in my hair – not that my hair is long, but it's enough for someone to grab.

It's hurting like hell.

**Henry's Point of View - End**

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_Henry Townshend knew when he was in trouble. He was not a stupid man. It may have been said that he often looked distant, unsociable, or even downright creepy, but never stupid. Even 'ol' Braintree' had never called the young male stupid – and that was something!_

_So when the man in the coat placed his gun inside his coat and started to undo his trousers with one hand, Henry had it running through his mind that people…were _**not** _supposed to do that._

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**Ashford2ashford: I apologise for the weird writing of Henry's current present tense point of view, but I wanted to try something new. If you don't like it, just tell me in a review and I'll change the story back to just a normal point of view. Until then, hope you enjoyed the second part! Thanks go out to the people who bothered to review! **


	3. Running Scared

**Silent Hill 4 – The Room**

**Desperation – By Ashford2ashford**

**Rating: Mature – for Yaoi (Henry/Walter) and later on, graphic violence**

**AN: Wow!!! Those that did review this really seemed to get into it, so I'll continue ahead!! Sorry about the lack of updates…I'm just getting back on track now…**

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**Chapter Three – Running Scared**

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**Henry's thoughts – **

My head is hurting…

I wish he'd let go of my hair, but he seems hell-bent on keeping me upon my knees and, as weak as he looks, one hand is enough to pin me there. I can't really move my head because every time I do so, he responds by clenching his fist tighter in my hair, and the last time I did that, I felt a few strands snap, so that's out of the question.

I think my eyes are watering from the pain…or are they because of the fear? I can't tell…I really can't…I've had them shut so long now that tears are filling up the inside of my eyelids and are practically drowning my eyes.

I've got to force them open…

"Unhh…that's better…"

What's better? Why did he say that?

I have to open my eyes…

Oh lord…oh what the hell??

That's…if I'm not mistaken…wait…why would I be? There's only one thing it could be and it's staring me in the face. I can hear this sick bastard chuckling to himself as my eyes can barely stay open due to the pain he's inflicting, and then there's…that thing in front of me…

What is he expecting? Who the hell drops their trousers in the middle of an abandoned subway, anyway? Why the hell would anyone want to show themselves to a complete stranger???

No…no…no…

That damn hand…forcing me…ah…the pain…in my head…stop pulling please…ah…no…

Then that's it isn't it?

I've never felt anything like this before…and I wouldn't really recommend it to any guys wanting to experiment…

This guy seems to be in raptures, and I can hear him moaning every time he thrusts into my face, choking me, and gripping my hair tightly, even though I'm not actually trying to escape this time! It's big…it's damn big…and I'm not exactly jealous par se…I'm kinda not too big or not too small myself…

I digress…

I think it's this thing forcing itself inside my jaw that's making me do so. He tastes bitter…and yet there's something sweet about him too, but it's really not my taste…it really isn't…

"Hnn…never…killed anyone like this before…maybe I should…Unhh…choke you to death?"

Was that him? His voice is so far away in my ears but I can hardly hear anything as it is, and this time he sounds like he's calling from behind a waterfall. Or is that the sound of my own blood rushing to my head? More importantly…what I did hear him say, I can't really believe can I? Kill me? He'd fuck my mouth to death or something??

Sorry…irrational there…but this is hardly the time for the rational thoughts is it? I'm not going to die in the middle of a subway with another guy having his way with my face! I've just gotten out of my own damn room for god's sake!!!!

I can feel my fingers scrabbling at the cold stone floors beneath me and yet my eyes are forced shut by the crippling pain in my skull. Also…I think the lack of oxygen is starting to get to me…he thrust in fully a while ago and since then hasn't pulled out…so I'm starting to get worried…wouldn't you?

So I'm reduced to pitiful scrabbling. Trying to grip whatever I can in the thick floor surface.

Dirt…dirt….dirt…fluff…stone…dirt….dirt…metal…dirt…wait? What?

Dirt…dirt….dirt…

No! What was it I felt before??

I can't breathe!!! Come on!! What was that???

Dirt dirt dirt dirt dirt dirt stone stone stone stone dirt dirt…

NO! NO! What the hell?? Please!!! God!! Save me!!

Dirtdirtdirtdirt clang.

Clang?

Metal!!! Metal!! Metal!!! The Pipe!!!!

There…I have it…but I can't even think anymore…all I can feel is my head pounding from the pain and the blood in my jaw and his laughter is echoing like a distant pool…

I have to react…I have to…I can feel my mind getting fuzzy…

My arm jerks suddenly and I wonder whether it's enough…

And then he's out of my mouth and there's this freedom in my hair that I've never felt. I can feel the wind in the subway blowing through it and slightly stinging my sore scalp, but it's freedom…sweet sweet sweet freedom…

My eyes open harshly and I realise that even though my head still pounds and my ears are still blocked with the blood in my ears, I have to run…I have to…

But my legs feel like jelly and at first I stumble, the pipe clutched like a life line.

I dare a glance backwards and he's there, glaring at me with blood pouring down his head, knocked to the floor as I was by him…and his sick…sick…

Do I even have time to think?

My legs won't move! Come on!!

There…I'm stood and I'm running as though I've been shot in the ass with a pellet gun, but even that's preferable to actually being shot in the ass with the gun he's currently grabbing for…or the head…

I can't really register what's happening, but there's this horrible rush of air past me and my ears suddenly erupts in a shower of blood – I can see it fly in front of my face as I run and then there's a hole in the wall opposite me!

Now…is the time to run…whether my legs like it or not…and I've just about escaped him anyway…

"What the-?"

"AGH!"

On the floor again…how humiliating…

But I'm up in seconds and there's this woman…she looks startled…but never mind that…

"He…he has a gun!" I'm breathless, and she looks startled.

"Who has, honey?" She's looking behind me and I whirl around…

Nothing…

"But…" Yeah…my ear is still bleeding…suddenly her hands are upon it and she looks concerned.

"He…there was someone there…" I can feel redness in my cheeks and I'm leaning against a wall, cutting off our contact, but it's no bother to me…my ears hurts…

"Who are you?" She's kinda…yeah…voluptuous? Is that the word? Let's face it…my eyes aren't exactly drawn to the ridiculous amount of makeup she has on…

"I…Henry…Henry Townshend…" I have to look away from her…she'll make my nose bleed…

Hey…at least there's a person down here with me in this hellish world…and I'm out of my apartment…and I've already met the villain of this piece…so I assume…

But that's not a memory I wanna keep…

Ever…

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**Ashford2ashford: yes it's been a long time, and this one may be random and short, but at least I wrote out the scene you'd all been waiting for! **

**Ciao!**


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